


Three Weeks Too Late (the 'Five Weeks' remix)

by rei_c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Consensual Violence, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Sam, Rough Sex, Scenting, Stanford Era, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean swallows at the thought of that: Sam's home, his soon-to-be omega's scent everywhere, on everything. Sam wants to take Dean back to his <i>den</i>. "Okay," he says. "Your place. But not -- it has to be now, Sam. I can't wait much longer." </p><p>"Yeah," Sam says.  "Yeah, it's been five weeks since your birthday."</p><p> </p><p>(aka, the one where Dean finally claims his omega.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Weeks Too Late (the 'Five Weeks' remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Five Weeks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108043) by [rei_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c). 



Dean parks as close to the centre of campus as he can and takes a deep breath in the clean air of the Impala. He's here, finally, has made it to Palo Alto and Stanford -- later than he should have been, granted, by five weeks if he had listened to his instincts from the get-go, by three weeks if he'd been an inch less stubborn when he realised just what those instincts were telling him. Turns out that Dean can't fight his biology for very long, even when it comes to Sam's happiness. 

He gets out of the Impala, inhales deep, filtering through the scents and odors, trying to pick out one in particular. There's a hint of it --sun-warmed asphalt and bubblegum popsicle, wind through tall grass and blood on leather -- and Dean smiles, can't help it, as he locks onto the scent and starts tracking it. 

Dean stalks the smell through campus, ends up in front of the library. He can't help the snort; the library, of course, he should have looked here first. Dean goes inside, follows the scent-trail up the steps, down the stacks, finally sees a taller-than-he-remembers kid sitting cross-legged in front of a shelf, several discarded books to one side, notebook on his lap. Dean had walked silently, a hunting prowl, but it's like Sam can feel him, can tell that there's someone more than just another student standing there. Even from here, Dean can see Sam's nostrils flare as Sam slowly puts down the book he'd been flipping through. 

"Dean," Sam says, like there's no doubt in his mind, like he's actually relieved -- and he hasn't looked at Dean yet, how did he know? 

"Sam," Dean says, as he tries to focus through the haze of Sam's scent mingling with the books, with the filtered air coming from the vents. He inhales, can't hold back a burst of his own scent, still too new to the alpha and too close to his unclaimed omega to have perfect control, but when his scent goes wild, Sam sways. Dean watches, can't do more than watch, as Sam turns boneless and limp, looks like he's -- like he's just been so well-fucked that he's going to sleep for three days straight and wear the marks from it for a solid week. 

Dean wants that, wants to see Sam like that, spread out under him. It's taken three weeks to come to terms with what his alpha's been telling him, what it _needs_ , and as difficult as he thought it'd be to look at Sam and see anything other than a little brother to be protected, it's so easy to imagine him laid out and begging, so easy to imagine the tight heat Dean's going to bury himself in, so easy to imagine the feel of Sam's skin -- all those golden miles of skin -- between his teeth. 

He takes one step closer and Sam holds out a hand, says, "Please, Dean." Dean gets chills from that; hearing Sam say his name satisfies the human but hearing his omega nearly beg soothes Dean enough to let him plant his feet when Sam says, "Just -- stay there for a second, okay? We can't do this here."

"Can't do what?" Dean asks, and if he had any power over his own mind, he'd blink at deep and husky his voice has gone. 

Sam bites his lower lip -- fuck, Dean wants to get his mouth on Sam's, bite that lip himself, turn it bruised and red and puffy -- says, "Mate," unsteadily. "That is -- I mean, that is why you're here, right?" 

Dean growls, just a hint rumbling up from the bottom of his chest, hardly enough to hear, but Sam tilts his head to one side, baring his neck and throat in submission. 

"Should've come sooner," Dean admits. "I tried to fight it, Sam, I did, but." He stops, his alpha furious at the reminder of Dean's hesitance, his absolute refusal, to seek out and claim his mate immediately. Looking at his brother now, the curled-out sleek-shining hair, the set of his elbows, even the differently-coloured ink spots on his hands, has Dean wondering how he could ever question that Sam was made for him, that they're made for each other, because the way Sam's sitting there, back straight, waiting, is everything Dean never knew he wanted. 

"Was it me?" Sam asks, so quietly that Dean barely hears. "Are you -- do you not want me?" 

This time the growl is full and furious, echoes in the silence around them. "Always," Dean snarls. "Forever. So if you don't wanna do this here, tell me where." 

Sam ducks his head, says, "My place?"

Dean swallows at the thought of that: Sam's home, his soon-to-be omega's scent everywhere, on everything. Sam wants to take Dean back to his _den_. "Okay," he says. "Your place. But not -- it has to be now, Sam. I can't wait much longer." 

"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, it's been five weeks since your birthday."

Dean frowns, scenting the odd undertones Sam's putting out, need and anticipation and want. It's a heady mix, even with a taste of fear clinging to the edges, but it makes Dean wonder how Sam could accept this so soon, so easily, when it's taken Dean's alpha time to wear Dean down. Sam still smells like unmated beta, a few other scents on him, but beta underneath it all. That he would give in, even seems like maybe he expected it, is something Dean's going to have to ask about. 

Later. 

"And?" Dean asks. 

"And I -- I stopped thinking you would show," Sam admits. "I mean, I hoped for a while but then you never came and I --" 

"Oh, I came," Dean says, "and I'm gonna come again. Been jerkin' off in the t-shirts you left behind but now I'm here, I'm gonna wrap that pretty little ass of yours around my dick instead of your clothes." 

Sam flushes so brightly, sends his scent spiralling so high, that Dean literally has to hold onto the shelves to keep from going over there and just fucking _claiming_ what's his, getting Sam all spread out surrounded by these books he loves and making him fill the silence with his screams and groans and begging. 

It's like Sam can tell, because he instantly pushes his pheromones down, almost stops scenting entirely. That should be -- there's no way Sam did that consciously, that would be crazy. It's enough, though, to watch as Sam rips a piece of paper out of his notebook, scribbles down an address, clambers up and holds onto one of the stacks for a second. He promises Dean he'll be at the address by the time Dean gets there but a head-start would be appreciated if Dean can manage it, and then scampers away without even looking at Dean _once_.

//

Dean waits as long as he possibly can, which is only about five minutes, and then he walks to where Sam had been sitting, picks up the sheet of paper and brings it to his nose, nearly passes out at the strength of Sam's scent on it when he's so used to things that've been sitting at the bottom of Dean's duffel, waiting for his alpha to present, for three years. Dean takes the scent in, commits every facet of it to memory, then frowns, inhales just that little bit deeper, opens his mouth so it hits the back of his throat. 

Family. Sam's got a family bond. Sam's got a family bond to an mated alpha and omega pair, and all the jagged holes in Sam's scent are filled with another alpha and omega. 

Dean snarls, stalks through the library like that fucking alpha's at the end of his trip, like that alpha deserves Sam, has any claim on Sam when Sam already has a family. He's hard and it shows, knows his knot's starting to grow but he doesn't care. First he's going to claim his omega and then he's going to rip apart anyone who even thinks there's a piece of Sam left for them. 

//

It takes him twenty minutes to get to Sam's apartment and he parks at the kerb, doesn't bother to find a space somewhere legal; there's no time. He presses the buzzer, holds it for a few seconds, waits about three seconds, presses it again, this time more insistently, demanding. His nerves are thrumming, body filled with a possessive need that won't go away, he knows, until he's knot-deep in Sam's ass and has Sam's blood in his mouth. 

The door clicks open -- _finally_ \-- and Dean stomps inside, follows his nose up to the third floor. Sam's waiting in an open doorway, eyes big and nerves showing as he trembles a little. It feels like Sam's his prey, now, and he always gets what he's hunting, _always_ , but he's never wanted something more than the pretty boy in front of him. 

"I get any closer," he says, "I'm gonna fuck you, Sam. I -- it's not gonna be gentle . I'm sorry, I just." 

He trails off as Sam smiles at him, soft, filled with understanding. "Come in and fuck me, then, Dean," he says, "once you promise me something."

"Anything," Dean says. He's unabashedly palming his dick, thinking of all the ways he's gonna fuck Sam, and the alpha in him's gratified to see Sam look down at the action, swallow at the sight. 

"You have to claim me," Sam says. "The first time we tie. I want your teeth in my neck, Dean, and I want it to scar over so good that no one has any doubt my alpha's protective and possessive and will do whatever it takes to keep me." He pauses there, adds, quietly, "I want a sign that I belong to you." 

Dean's gonna ask about that -- later, christ, he has so many fucking questions -- because that doesn't sound like Sam, even if he's pre-omega, hormones he's never felt before starting to flush through his body in anticipation of what they're about to do. Sam's never been one to accept someone's control over him, has always been independent to the extreme -- but then Dean pauses, thinks. Sam never let _Dad_ boss him around once he hit his teens, turned into this moody creature Dean didn't recognise anymore, all bite, all bruising argument and cutting words. 

Sam always answered to Dean, though. He never once disagreed with Dean, actually, even if he did find ways around Dean's directions. Even that last night when Sam left and Dean near-killed himself trying to find the bottom of a bottle of moonshine -- Sam begged him that night, literally got down on his knees and pleaded for Dean to come with him. Shit. Sam never complained when Dean was possessive of him, glowed like the sun when Dean smiled at him and sank into every touch Dean gave him with a sigh of perfect contentment. 

"How long've you know?" Dean asks. "That I'm your alpha, that you're omega -- how long have you known, Sammy?"

"Since I was thirteen," Sam says, and he sounds pained, like he knows exactly what that confession's going to do to Dean. 

Eight years. Sam's already rare, being omega when there's none in their family tree, but he's got a _strong_ omega, one of the few where long-term exposure to their mate's scent is enough to trigger an early hormone release. Of course, it's never enough to change their scent, never enough to get their slick working or their wombs ready; it's just enough to give them omega instincts and knowledge of their mate. 

Sam's known for eight years and he's been here for three, away from his alpha, consciously fighting the pull, definitely the guilt and depression and low self-worth that Sam's always felt to some degree. Suddenly Dean's three years without Sam and five weeks without his omega doesn't seem so bad.

"We're gonna talk about this," Dean says. 

Sam ducks his head, looks at Dean through his eyelashes, hair falling over one side of his face, and says, "Yes, alpha." 

//

Everything that happens after that is completely out of Dean's control; he only knows for sure what's happening in little swatches of consciousness, otherwise running on pure instinct, alpha taking over completely. 

He knows he fucks Sam right against the door, doesn't even wait for a couch or a bed, but Sam's open and wet with lube, must've rushed home to prep, and he's so tight and hot around Dean that Dean thinks he could stay here forever. 

He knows he knots Sam, the first time his knot's ever worked apart from on his birthday, and Sam begs for it, opens up for it and clenches around it. 

He knows he bites Sam, claims him good, the taste of Sam's blood driving him so deep into Sam's ass it's a wonder Sam's not choking on his dick. 

He knows Sam comes around him, cries out Dean's name at the same time a wide avenue of connection forms between the two of them, and when it anchors to Dean, pulls tight to Sam, Dean comes, fills his brother with a snarl of complete possession, because this omega is _his_.

//

By the time he comes back to himself, Sam's somehow managed to move them enough to get them on the floor. Dean's curled around Sam, playing the big spoon even though Sam's just as tall, might've even gained an inch on him out here. 

Dean basks in the feeling and pokes at the edges of their nascent bond. It's strong, fucking deep already, and it's humming with contentment and something Dean's a little too scared to call love. Instead of dealing with that emotion and all it implies, Dean opens his eyes, completely unprepared for the sight that greets him. Sam's neck and shoulder are a complete mess, skin torn and blood smeared everywhere and -- oh, fuck, did he go deep enough to take out actual chunks of Sam's meat and hit muscle? 

It's like Sam can tell that Dean's starting to panic -- probably can, as close as they are right now -- and he squirms even further into Dean. "It's exactly what I wanted," Sam says. Dean blinks, that can't be true, Sam's been fucking _ravaged_ , but Sam says, "You knew it's what I wanted or you wouldn't have done it. Instinct, Dean. I may have grown up a little since I got out here but your alpha knows its omega inside and out." 

"So," Dean says, after a moment. "Omega? It took?"

Sam grins, Dean can feel it, both physically and in the bond, jesus, and says, "We are going to save so much money on lube, oh my god." 

Dean's still stuck in Sam, still tied, but he has a feeling that Sam's slick is gonna have to work overtime for all the weeks and months they have to make up for, and -- "Wait a second, why did you even have lube?" Dean asks. He can hear a hint of teeth in the words, realises he's holding Sam so tight that there'll be bruises but can't bear to let his grip loosen. "You been spreading it for someone else?" 

"Idiot," Sam says. "What, you think when I stick my fingers up my ass and pretend they're yours, I'm gonna do it dry? Fuck that." 

The thought of Sam fingering himself, thinking of Dean, maybe even calling out Dean's name when he comes, fills Dean's mind so fast that he knows this is gonna be something he has to see -- and more than once. "You're not leaving this apartment, not for a few days," Dean says. 

It's the first time he's alpha-ordered his omega and Dean's expecting Sam to protest. Sam doesn't, though, just relaxes, says, "I'm prob'ly not leaving your _dick_ for a few days," making Dean let out a snort, half in surprise.

"You don't -- I mean, I'm not the -- it should --," Dean says, stops and starts a few times, has no idea how to put into words what he's feeling, how euphoric he is that he _has Sam_ now, how terrified that makes him, how regretful he is that it took him so long to accept it, how unworthy he feels that this beautiful, glorious omega is his.

"It's you," Sam says, calm, like he hasn't just exploded Dean's heart with such sudden growth that it breaks apart at every seam. "It's always been you, Dean. So no, I'm not upset. I'm not gonna fight it. This is what I want. Dean, you -- _you're_ what I want." 

Dean takes that in, holds it close, and when his knot's finally shrunk enough for him to slip out of Sam, he helps Sam up, brushes his fingers over the bitemarks, lets his eyes feast on the bruises he left all over Sam's body and the thin trail of come leaking down one thigh. There's no way anyone would be able to mistake Sam for anything other than a claimed omega and Dean -- he should feel so guilty that he's done this to his little brother, marked him up and made him bleed and left him leaking come like some kind of hooker. He doesn't, though. His alpha's finally shut up and Sam looks so fucking content that Dean can't muster up even one drop of self-recrimination. 

"I don't deserve you," he says, quietly, as Sam leads him into the kitchen, gently presses him into a chair at a small table that smells and looks new.

"Yeah, well," Sam says, opening the fridge, taking out a dish with what looks like twenty pounds of meat on it. Sam sets the platter in front of Dean, then perches on one of Dean's legs, leans to rub his nose on Dean's neck and lets out a pleased sigh at the smell. "Happy belated birthday, jerk."


End file.
